


Nyan Cat Boxers and a Soapy Shark Attack

by ablondeweasley



Series: And That Was How it All Began [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablondeweasley/pseuds/ablondeweasley
Summary: "I'm in my underpants in a Laundromat waiting for my clothes to get washed and your clothes are in the machine next to mine and they were all covered in blood what the fuck" AU





	Nyan Cat Boxers and a Soapy Shark Attack

Lance had been going to the 24-hour Laundromat two blocks away for as long as he could remember. It was pretty much the only place he could pop into during the late hours of the night, and poor Rosalinda, half asleep at the counter, wouldn’t even bat an eye if Lance came in rocking Aqua-man boxers and nothing else.

Yeah, Rosalinda didn’t mind Lance one bit, especially since he chatted with her in fluid Spanish, and had this weird quarter-finding superpower that allowed him to easily pay for all of him and Hunk’s laundry. (Like, seriously a superpower—Lance found quarters in the most random of places: a stack of them in the library, a couple in a potted plant, it made no sense. But Lance’s Mamá had always said that everyone had their own superpower(s), just small enough to be near unrecognizable.)

So, another late Wednesday night, or ungodly early morning, Lance supposed, found Lance at the Laundromat. Rosa had her head pillowed in her arms at the counter, strands of salt-and-pepper hair falling across her face and onto the shoulders of her flowery blouse, and Lance was in his Nyan cat boxers, quietly rocking out as he popped quarter after quarter into the hungry washing machine.

“Oh baby when you talk like that, you make a woman go mad-Holy fuck!” Lance was impressed with the agility in which he hopped over and behind the washing machine. Someone had entered the laundromat, letting all the cold, night air in, and Lance could swear the lights flickered.

No one else ever came in when Lance was here; he normally had the dim, warmly lit, Tropical Passion detergent-scented laundromat to himself. Lance wasn’t shy, that wasn’t it, (it would be treason to deny anyone this body; there’s enough Lance to go around, guys, gals, and non binary pals, don’t you worry!), but…he was a bit vulnerable in nothing but his tighty-whities, with Rosa and practically the whole city asleep and unable to hear his cries for help. Plus, this dark, mysterious figure was wrapped up in thick, black clothes, (Guns! Knives! Drugs! Abducted small children! All could be concealed in that bulky wardrobe), and the basket of clothes they were carrying obscured their face in a way that was at least slightly adrenaline inducing.

Lance pressed himself up against the cold metal of the shuddering washing machine, and peeked just over the top of it to watch the stranger dump his clothes in. Holy fuck, those are muscular arms, Lance couldn’t help but admit to himself after the stranger shed their coat. And wow, dark hair, thick, dark eyebrows, sharp jaw, and sharper cheekbones… and oh God, his eyes-- a black that burned with violet, like galaxies colliding. _Jesus fuck._

Lance was about to pop out of his hiding spot, when- _Jesus Christ._ The clothes-they were-In the yellow light of the washing machine they were being haphazardly tosses into, Lance could see the (fresh-looking!) _bloodstains_ that covered each item of clothing.

_Holy shit._ Gorgeous, (goddamn, was that a mullet covering his neck?), Mulleted, Mystery Man was a-a _serial killer of some sort!_ What the _fuck_ was Lance supposed to do-

“I can see you, you know.” The stranger said, closing the washing machine door with an aggressive “thunk.” Lance gulped. The guy was pulling something out of his pocket, something that glinted in the dim light, (a gun?! A knife?!)-oh, just a handful of quarters.

Lance was in full-on adrenaline mode, but still not ready to come out of his hiding spot. (Should he? Should he make a break for it?)

“Do you know what wash cycle I should put it on?” This time the guy spoke, he looked directly at him. Holy shit. Should Lance say anything? What if-? “Are you okay?” The guy spoke again, and his eyebrows furrowed easily, his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, and, wow, he was asking _Lance if he was okay?_ The guy with bloodstained clothes? Asking Lance if he was _okay?_

This was too much.

“Why the fuck are all your clothes bloodstained?” Lance clapped his hand over his mouth a fucking second too late. The guy took a quick step back at that, and _Jesus Christ, Lance. What. What._

“Ummmm…you noticed? I mean?”

“….yeah.” Lance stood up, leaning hesitantly on the washing machine, which was now shuddering so violently it seemed to be having a seizure or the best orgasm of its life. Lance was still cautious, though, his hand in his pocket around his phone.

But the guy didn’t answer, just flushing the most brilliant shade of red Lance had ever seen. Wow. Why…?

“You’re, you’re…naked!” The guy wheezed.

Oh.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry…if it makes you uncomfortable…?” Lance scratched the back of his neck, but wait, why the fuck was _he_ apologizing—this guy in front of him had fucking _bloody clothes_ running in the washer! The soapy water in there probably looked like the aftermath of shark attack!

“Hmk.” Was what the guy said, looking at his feet. So an easily embarrassed serial killer? Lance could work with this.

“Dude. The bloody clothes. Don’t try and change the subject.” Feeling a bit more confident, Lance slid over the top of his in-use washing machine and crossed his arms. Lance probably didn’t imagine the squeak the guy let out. (Wow, he was really, really cute, all flustered like this-no, Lance. _Serial killers_ aren’t cute.)

“I just…get into fights sometimes? And motorcycle accidents, I guess? And I get a lot of…nosebleeds? It’s not what you think!” The guy said hurriedly, still pointedly _not looking_ at Lance.

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“But look at you! You’re-you’e naked!” He sputtered, waving his hands all around. Lance may or may not have flexed his abs at that moment. And the guy may more may not have flushed even deeper. (Fuck. Yes.) 

“And you love it.” Lance couldn’t help the smirk that made itself at home on his face.

The guy’s eyes widened comically, “No! No! I don’t even know you! No!”

“Okay, Mr. Serial Killer. I get it. You want to jump my bones, but you’re polite. I’m Lance; now you know me. who are you?” _Da-amn. Smoother than butter, McClain._ Yeah, he may be Lance McClain, womanizer extraordinaire, but this was a new high even for him.

The guy seriously gasped, and seemed to burst into flames.

“Not serial killer. Am Keith.”

Wow, he was _incoherent now._ This was feeding Lance’s ego was too much, honestly.

“Cool, Not-a-serial-killer, Keith.” Lance said, pulling out his wet clothes and dumping them in a nearby dryer. He decided to give the guy a break, though. “Are you…okay? I mean, all your clothes are bloody.”

This made Keith even more flustered than before, if even. “Yeah. Just a couple scrapes and bruises.” Probably not “just a couple scrapes and bruises,” but Lance would leave it at that. Especially since Keith’s reaction was that of someone who doesn’t get asked questions like that on a regular basis.

Lance kinda wanted to hug him now. “Okay.”

Lance’s clothes were done a couple minutes later, and as he pulled them out and hugged their warmth to his chest, he gave Keith a smile… _not prepared for Keith to smile back!_ Oh, shit— _shit shit shit._ Mayday! Mayday! (Holy fuck, did Lance need an inhaler— _breath, McClain, breathe._ ) _Wow, that smile._ That _pink flush._ (Lance’s heart stopped. “Defibrillators at the ready! 3…2…1..clear!) Lance had to get out of here before Keith or his smile killed him. (And he barely knew the guy! Honestly, McClain! One smile and you’re already gone? C’mon!)

“Wait!” Keith cried out, as Lance stepped out into the night, and, _wow,_ Lance was _100% fucked._ So much for the whole “leaving before he was killed by this gorgeous fucking weird near-stranger. “Will…will I see you again?”

_Holy. Fucking._ Dios Mío.

“I’m here all the time,” Lance was trying not to gasp like a fish out of water, and he hid his now-permanent-grin behind the pile of clothes steaming in the night air. “See you around, Mullet.” (He had to get out of there before it got any worse.)

And that was how it all began.


End file.
